


Food for Thought (On the Tip of Her Tongue)

by mirrorphoton



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Food, Idk exactly where i was trying to go with this, No dead lesbeans, soft angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:17:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6414196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorphoton/pseuds/mirrorphoton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's journey to home.<br/>A journey through taste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food for Thought (On the Tip of Her Tongue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haelstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haelstorm/gifts).



> I read an anon message on tumblr on Decalexas' blog about Clarke learning to cook grounder food for Lexa, and this just kind of took off from there. So its for her. Idk. Then it took me approximately 5 million years to edit it, lol sorry.

Clarke Griffin.

Clarke, who never felt at home on the Ark. Who grew up on vitamin pills and basically soy-everything. Soy loaf, soybeans, soy milk, so much soy. Like all the Arkers, she had only consumed synthesized meat protein often enough to keep the enzymes needed to actually digest meat for the future generations that would return to Earth. It was a nice change from the soy, but still not particularly enjoyable. Her favorite meals were the ones when they sometimes had a small portion of a fresh fruit or vegetable from Farm Station. Those only happened when there was enough to go around for everyone, so the servings were always small, but she savored them.

Clarke, the smiling bubbly girl who drew on anything she could get her hands on and always looked forward to the artificially sweetened ‘dessert’ after the evening meal, which was usually little more than a sugar pill. Her best friend Wells would sometimes give her his portion so he could see her smile that toothy grin that was just so _Clarke_.

Clarke, whose mother had been saving a small piece of chocolate for who even knew how long, but gave it to her daughter after Atom accidentally knocked her into a corner and dislocated her shoulder at age nine. Her tears dried as the sweet taste melted over her tongue, and spent what felt like hours in her mother's warm embrace, hugging her back with her good arm.

Clarke, whose father spent hours working on side projects for the kitchens and farm station to earn a favor or two, and who grinned like never before when he presented her with a small raspberry tart at her 14th birthday. Clarke who made sure she shared that tart with Wells, and her father and mother. It was just a tiny bite apiece but it was the best thing she had ever eaten, and well worth it.

She spent almost a year eating the slop they served in the Skybox after her father was floated. It was a barely edible paste. More of it probably ended up smeared on the walls of her cell in the name of art than in her stomach. Why would they bother to waste food that actually tasted good on kids who were just wasting oxygen anyway? She spent most nights trying to recall the sweet flavor of those dessert, that chocolate, and that tiny, delicious tart.

* * *

 

Princess.

Clarke, who when the Dropship landed on the Earth and she felt the cool fresh air on her face, felt overwhelmed. Between the fear that she would die from radiation and the excitement she was actually on the Earth, it was almost too much to take in. There was so much green. The first thing she ate on the new world open to her were berries. Berries of a variety she had only seen in faded textbooks, and that had never been grown and rationed out from Farm Station. They tasted a little like dewdrops and dirt; sweet with a sour note and all in all it was an entirely new experience. She loved them.

Clarke, who had her first taste of real animal meat after nearly dying in the spike pit. When she bit into that smokey panther flesh, she really let it settle in her teeth, the flavor filling all corners of her mouth. It caught her off guard, there was something in the charred flesh she had never experienced in the synthesized meats available on the Ark. She tried to articulate it, but the words were never quite there. She was so awed at the pure flavor of it she dreamed about it that night. As time passed, she came to appreciate how the rabbits they snared tasted so vastly different compared to the birds, and the warthog, and every new creature. Savoring the textures of the various meats and the roots and bulbs they dug up with their earthy tastes was an experience she did not have much time to enjoy when they went to war with the grounders.

Clarke who was trapped in the hellhole of Mount Weather, suspicious as shit looked at the mouthwatering delicious foods laid out before her and could barely taste them, too consumed with fear and doubt. She didn't touch the desserts.

* * *

 

 _Klark Kom Skaikru_.

Clarke, who walked into the banquet with the grounders, where the aroma of spices evident in the wide variety of dishes laid out before her made her mouth water, but her eyes were fixed solely on the woman across from her. With those penetrating green eyes boring into her own. Clarke, who when everything turned to shit and she only had one choice to save Raven, chugged the burning liquid to prove it wasn’t poison, and it left her mouth feeling fuzzy and numb.

Clarke who tasted nothing but bile and salty tears as she killed the shadow of the boy she had once loved. Who bit her tongue as she tried to scrub the blood out of her hands, even long after the water ran clear. Who tasted nothing but ash for days after lighting the fire to burn the bodies.

Clarke, who slowly came to enjoy the hasty meals of the war camp, and asked Lexa about the various dishes they enjoyed while planning for war. Clarke who wanted to know what this spice was, or what technique had gotten that fish so crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, or why would anyone on this earth enjoy mushrooms? Clarke who declared that she liked every variation of potato dish she was offered (the mashed ones were her favorite so far). Clarke who didn’t see Lexa smiling slightly at her when she bit into her first fresh ripe apple, too distracted by the sweetly sour tang.

Clarke, who was taken aback when soft lips met hers, hesitantly at first and then firmly. The vanilla pine scent that seemed to cling to Lexa's hair overshadowed by the sweet taste of her mouth. Clarke who caved and kissed back, letting herself enjoy just one moment before remembering they had a war to wage, and she was still grieving. Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw Lexa understood, and her lips were left still tingling.

* * *

 

_Wanheda._

Wanheda who was devastated after the mountain, the metallic tang of blood echoing over her taste buds for weeks. She survived the first days barely tasting the berries she found, but pulled herself together to start hunting when her stomach ached with hunger. Who managed to feed herself with fish from the streams; remembering how Lexa had shown her to debone them -and nearly emptying her stomach again the thought. Wanheda who hid her identity and learned Trigedasleng as quickly as she could so she could trade the boar she had slain at the outpost. Wanheda who spent hours chewing on the salted meats she got for her hunts. Wanheda who took the juice the kind girl offered her, but could not enjoy its flavor. Wanheda who couldn’t bear to go down on that tradepost girl, unable to handle her musky flavor on her tongue so she used her fingers instead.

Wanheda who, spit in the Commander’s face, only to be led to a room that was open an airy, and opulently decorated. The room that had a large plate of fruits she had never seen before, but adamantly refused to touch. Her mouth watered at the various dishes she was brought, and part of her longed to taste the heavenly fresh baked bread, the delicate soups, the thick stews. She was practically starving herself surrounded by food, but she finally caved and consumed some of the plain salted meats, because at least it was something familiar.

* * *

 

Ambassador.

Clarke who couldn’t kill the Commander. Who held the blade to the soft flesh of her neck and knew no matter how much she hated her, she could never be the one to end her life.The bitter taste of her own tears was her reward as she let the knife clatter to the floor. As much as part of her wanted to return to her people, and another part wanted to go back into hiding, she knew what she had to do and swallowed down her pain.

Clarke, who finally accepted an apple from Lexa. She bit into it with a moan, it was the first thing she had properly tasted in months.

Clarke who cautiously began trying all of the rich delicacies of Polis. Clarke who realized she loved cheese the most, but could not eat much of it because her stomach lacked the proper enzymes to consume the lactose. She grew more comfortable in Lexa’s presence, and resumed her former habit of asking about foods until one afternoon the commander led her down into the Tower kitchens and began to cook for her.

Clarke who was amazed that Heda was so skilled at a menial task such as cooking, and got the commander to regale stories of the chores she had been made to do in her youth. The piles of potatoes and carrots she had peeled under Anya’s watchful gaze.

Clarke who couldn’t help but laugh to see tears gather in Lexa’s eyes as she chopped an onion, but soon understood when she tried to chop them herself. Clarke who discovered that the Commander loved eggs fried in the ham grease just so the yolk was still runny but the whites were solid. Who smiled watching the commander dip bread in the soggy mess one morning, neither seeing Titus look on disapprovingly from the doorway.

Clarke who came to love spending time with Lexa in the kitchen. She told Lexa all about her childhood on the Ark, and about the food they had available to them. Who laughed when Lexa’s face squished in disgust at the thought of it. She chopped vegetables and learned that spices really didn’t need to be measured, just tossed in at will, an instinct.

Clarke who could not for the life of her figure out how to get baked goods to come out as intended.

* * *

 

_Klark kom Skaikru.  
_

Clarke, who finally admitted to herself and Lexa that she loved her. Who kissed her for the second time and felt truly content for the first time since her father's death. She spent hours reveling in the taste of her lips, her skin, every inch of her body. She lingered at the apex of those glorious thighs, inhaling the sweet musk of arousal and looked Lexa dead in the eye as she leaned in for her first taste. Clarke who, hours later when they were spooned together, content and happy, whispered that it was her favorite taste on Earth. Clarke who got another taste as a reward.

Clarke, who watched in horror when Titus tried to kill her but hit Lexa instead. Clarke, who toiled for hours removing the bullet and stitching the wound. She sat by Lexa’s bedside for days feeding her broths and soft chopped fruits as she recovered. Clarke who held Lexa's hand when Titus was formally sentenced to die,  who kissed softly into Lexa's hair while she sobbed into her neck later, because even though he was trying to hurt her, the man was the only mentor she had left. Clarke who felt her mouth go dry as she took her cut in the mans' flesh in the city square.

Clarke who marched with Lexa instead of returning to her own people, because she could not bring herself to follow head over heart. Who made sure her own people surrendered, and those who had caused the trouble were taken care of, before returning to Polis, because Arkadia had never been her home. Clarke, who savored the earthy wine in toast after she accepted the position of _Flemkepa_.

* * *

 

_Flemkepa._

Clarke, who fell in love with Polis and its people, and took to dragging Lexa by the hand through the morning market. Who was delighted to try ice cream, a rare treat, and moaned as the vanilla flavor ran over her tongue for the first time. Who delighted in searching for new things to try, an unusual berry or fish she had never seen, and did her best to haggle for the best price she could get. The shopkeepers never tried very hard, smiling after her when she took her prize, honored that she chose their stalls.

Clarke who loved the taste of fresh baked bread, and always grabbed a loaf from the kitchens each morning. Clarke, who always sat all the Nightbloods down and told them stories from the Ark, from her childhood, from history books, whatever they wanted to hear. She always broke off a chunk of her bread and passed the rest of it around the circle to share. Clarke, who trained the Nightbloods in the ways of healing. Who learned to fight among them, and who tasted her own blood on more than one occasion from a training incident gone wrong, yet always praised their skills. Clarke who fell asleep in the Commanders bed each night, breathing in her smell, and on most nights indulging her favorite taste. Most mornings too.

Clarke who woke up on the morning of Lexa’s birthday and convinced Aden and a few of the older Nightbloods to help her cook. Clarke who got a grease pop from the meat cooking in the skillet, who accidentally burned the toasted bread, and left the eggs in the hot pan a little too long so the yolk ended up more solid than runny. She watched Aden squeeze a dozen oranges into a cup, and another nightblood chopped fruits with steady hands. Who put it all on a tray and carried it to the Commander’s room to surprise her with breakfast in bed. Clarke who grinned and blushed like a fool while Lexa ate, declaring that it was the best thing she had ever tasted –aside from Clarke herself.

Clarke who was awakened on her own birthday by Lexa’s smiling face with breakfast on a tray. Who looked at the tray of fried potatoes, various cheeses, sliced apples and fruits, but teared up at the sight of two small raspberry tarts. Clarke who was finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try and come back and write more fanfic now that I'm more emotionally stable. I've got like 30 half-baked ideas in my google docs folder, I'll try and bring some of those to fruition. I'm not watching the show past 3.07 fyi, just reading the reports from the brave souls that do.


End file.
